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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050812">Dummy Run</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleMap/pseuds/TempleMap'>TempleMap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Domestic Fluff, Drug Dealing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Football | Soccer Player Eren Yeager, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Janitor Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:01:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleMap/pseuds/TempleMap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His inner cheek pinched between his teeth, Eren can admit: he hasn’t thought it out.</p><p>“I’m just saying. If there’s no other way for you to get out of the underground—”</p><p>Levi snorts. “What a stupid idea. You think people will believe that?”</p><p>“If we make it believable.”</p><p>There’s a beat. Levi’s brow flinches; Eren does not miss the low-toned dread in Levi’s voice:</p><p>“What the hell does that mean?”<br/>-</p><p>(Or, how Eren Jaeger faked a marriage for the sake of immigration fraud).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Levi/Eren Yeager</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>[ Dummy run ]</p><p>"A practice event that is done to prepare for the actual event that will happen in the future; dry run."<br/>"A run by a player without the ball, to lure defenders away from the ball carrier."<br/> </p><p>You ever see those “Attack on School Castes” manga ‘chapters’ that Isayama has done? Without the purpose of ‘killing titans’ or ‘becoming free,’ I like how listless he makes Eren. I wanted to throw “that Eren” into a university/post-canon AU and explore--</p><p>Fuck. What am I kidding.I just wanted an excuse to write smut about Levi in his janitor’s outfit, while self-gratifying myself with my favorite tropes. Enjoy.</p><p>(Small note for my American readers: I'm going with the term 'football' instead of 'soccer').</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eren’s looking for a rush; has got the inside of his cheek pinched between his teeth. Has this sense of nerves that won’t hold still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s bored. He’s listless. There’s a monotony of words rotting away in some dictionary that he’d be apt to use, but he’s more-so settled on the feeling than the vocabulary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pacing. Rubber soles against the slick wood of the department’s floors. There’s a chill against the paned glass; a touch of a fingertip or the passing warmth of breath would fog it up quick. It’s cold, now. It’s autumn. Mikasa had convinced him to buy a new coat — and maybe in some unmentioned agreement between the two, Armin had muttered, bashfully, that “</span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Eren’s long arms had grown way past the sleeves of his prior jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(They had. And it was embarrassing, sure. Cold? Yeah, alright. But, he hated being babied. Fucking hated it).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, Mikasa bought him the jacket. Not that he had accepted it without a screaming match. Most days — today, as an example — he went without that jacket; the stubborn stupidity of a grudge that had become a habit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that left some money in his wallet. Coffee was three coins in the student cafe — a cluttered space on the ground floor of the building where vined plants crawled up the beams from their terracotta pots, and where art from the more creative university students hung along the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Landscapes of the last shards of Shiganshina’s walls rising like pointed glass into the horizon; an abstract depiction of the mythology of Ymir, with great, thick paint strokes…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he had waited for his coffee to cool — black, one packet of brown sugar — he stared at the canvases. He understood none of it; couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of ‘meaning’ some must have possessed. He was lost in abstract concepts like these, maybe he found it difficult to ever relate to anything outside of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he has coffee. He has his mindless treading through the half-empty building. He’s wasting time because he can’t find the energy to meet Mikasa or Armin like promised. He has until sundown, anyway. Knows that Mikasa expects him sooner; knows that Armin will be on time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s planning on being late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, he’s looking for a rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most lecture halls are empty. He haunts them like a ghost; stands in the doorways with his coffee half-finished and bittering on his tongue. One in particular, he notices white lettering unerased from a green chalkboard:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>History 1A</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Politics of Eldia and Marley</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Facts and figures, facts and figures, on and on and on. Eren skims over the written words with a dull enthusiasm. Continues on. His heel hits the hallway and he’s halfway down the corridor when a clattering comes from inside an open classroom just ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He figures to pass it; he’s unsure what he’s looking for, but it’s definitely not a professor that he’s wanting to make small talk with. His pace speeds just by a fraction. He adjusts the messenger bag slipping from his left shoulder. Prepares to pass the open room, but just glances in to see —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dark hair. Short build. Wide shoulders. Angular jawline. Good hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The janitor.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren stops. A feeling, finally, had caught him: a rise of developing interest. A thrill in his stomach that’s enough to push him forward into that room. He pauses just past the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The janitor — </span>
  <em>
    <span>Levi</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eren can vaguely recall his name being, not that they had ever spoken before — casts a sneer of a glance at Eren before his eyes turn back to the floor he mops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking for something?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” says Eren. He steps in further—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” And his voice is a stern bark. “I mopped there. Step over it or take off your shoes. What did you lose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren slips off his sneakers without bothering with the laces — it’s enough to gain a quirk of a brow from Levi, but he says nothing in turn. Even as Eren steps closer, closer; until he’s an arm distance away from where he works.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s weird to think, Eren realizes, but the janitor is quite pretty in a very harsh and very sharp way. He’s sturdy-looking — Eren likes that. Likes the pointed glare in his eyes and how the front strands of his hair skim the edges of his thin brows, swaying back and forth as he works.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking mute or something?” Levi doesn’t bother glancing up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Eren. He’s sizing up Levi’s legs; noting the contour of his ass in that boiler suit. “I’m thinking about what I’m looking for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If your head’s so slow, how the fuck did you get into universi—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s done on purpose; Eren’s grip around his paper coffee cup releases. It falls and smacks onto the ground, the dark liquid splattering and pooling against the once-clean floor. And as if to just prove it — to confirm it was no slip of the hand — Eren taps his foot against the drooling cup, nudging it to roll until it hits Levi’s boot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, in that moment, just the hollow </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the cup echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence returns. The mopping has halted. Levi stands upright and stares with blank eyes at the mess and at the cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eren’s heart is racing; a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thumpthumpthump</span>
  </em>
  <span> thick in his throat. His shoulders jump when Levi says,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren likes his voice. That it hits so low in tone. There’s a sharp excitement clawing up Eren’s spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—You trying to be clever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really.” Eren glances between the spill and Levi’s face. “Just trying to keep you from looking so bored—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That first hit is lovely; Eren’s falling forward before he can pass another word. Levi’s right leg had swung outward, knocking against Eren’s ankles and undoing his balance. Eren lands on his side, his shoulder smacking against the paneling. He bites a yelp at the collison. The pool of black coffee stains his white shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, “Thanks,” says Levi, and he’s standing over him. In a harsh motion, he kicks Eren over to lay on his back and presses the sole of his boot against Eren’s sternum, pinning him to the ground. With this crushing weight, Levi’s leg slides him upward and downward, and Eren’s moving on the wood floor by just a fraction, the coffee sopping into his shirt and his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God,” Eren groans. All the breath is pressed out of him. His hands tangle around Levi’s heel in an attempt to yank him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking Eren Jaeger, aren’t you? That damn brat on the football team.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The center striker,” gasps Eren. “Yeah. Ah, fuck… Your heel—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Levi presses down harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” says Eren. He’s tugging, but damn, does this bastard have calves. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your last game was shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell, was he watching the match? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to learn how to pass that damn ball to your teammates. Not the opposition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m—” a strained ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nngh</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ juts through Eren’s teeth; he manages to move Levi’s ankle by a smidge. “—working on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And all of that weight and pressure suddenly releases. Levi’s knee bends; his foot on Eren’s chest rises until he’s stepped back; both boots on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clean up your fucking mess,” he says. He drops the mop onto Eren — the wooden handle landing with an ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>oof</span>
  </em>
  <span>!’ against Eren’s naval. “I’ll be in the faculty lounge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” and Eren’s got a headache. His shirt is sopped through; his body feels sore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as he watches Levi exit through the door without even a glance:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s heart is thudding adrenaline.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s thumbing through a magazine — </span>
  <em>
    <span>Travel: Seasonal Edition</span>
  </em>
  <span> — with that hooded-eye expression. He’s got his legs kicked over a short and sturdy wooden table, one ankle crossed over the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, um…” starts Eren. He feels awkward in here; has never been in the space of the faculty lounge. It’s empty despite the two of them, and is by no degree cozy or warm. There’s a small kitchenette toward the back of the square room — a sink, a coffee machine, cups, paper plates, and utensils. Tables that rise to hip-height with wooden chairs stacked around; short, dark tables beside lazy-looking settees and cush chairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, there’s a bleakness in the room. An ethereal, white cleanliness that glares in the eyes and stinks like chemicals in the nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so awash by this new environment — it’s not a place for an undeclared student — that he doesn’t notice Levi staring at him until:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, you look like a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” says Eren. “I’m covered in coffee, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorts. He raises his magazine back to his eyes. “Shouldn’t have dropped it, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren takes an anxious step forward, slipping his messenger bag from his shoulder and dropping it nearby the door. “I like that magazine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi doesn’t look at him. “I like when brats don’t make a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, he’s still pissed off over that. Alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s clean now, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have dismantled your jaw if it didn’t mean I’d get arrested.” He licks the edge of his thumb. Turns another page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” and Eren’s standing closer. He gently kicks out his foot; taps the toe of his shoe gently against Levi’s. “If you were gonna get arrested for something, it’d be for selling drugs, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, okay; that triggered something, because the magazine closes with a slap between Levi’s hands. He’s got these slanted eyes, all pinched in the corners — the only indication on his face that he’s livid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a fancy rumor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren shakes his head. “Not a rumor. I’m a second-hand buyer of your stuff—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reiner. The big, blonde one. He sells me the study pills at half the price he pays you for them. Says he can’t take them all, so who the fuck knows why he buys so many. Anyway, I think he’s worried about his heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ hell. You think I like hearing that? No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s no good at secrets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck’s sake—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How… I mean… It’s, like, common knowledge by now that the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>janitor</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this department sells study drugs out near the match field—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop calling it ‘study drugs.’ It’s not for damn human consumption. You add it to water. It makes a seltzer. It cleans better than—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve gotta think I’m an idiot to believe that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence falls. There’s a tension in Eren’s jaw he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Through his glare, he relaxes (or, attempts to). Clicks his jaw once. Twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi breaks the silence. He sets the magazine aside with a curse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been pissing me off since last week, when I saw you give that shit kick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, maybe, lunging hadn’t been the best of ideas. Mikasa may have been right, that Eren moves before he thinks; that he’s a nervous bundle of gut reactions and adrenaline-charged confidence. Because, he’s on the floor before his fist ever connects with Levi’s jaw</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop—!” he gasps, “—throwing me on the ground!” And he’s twisting and jabbing whatever sharp joint he can; his face is pressed against the floor, ass awkward in the air. Levi’s on his knees, bent forward to hold him down, and there’s something utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>lewd</span>
  </em>
  <span> that flutters through Eren’s head: the realization that he could just lean his hips just a little back, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, stop giving me excuses to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren grumbles a curse under his breath. Levi ignores it. Says instead:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi. Brat. Listen. You’re talented on the field when you’ve got your head straight. One of the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, did that drag up a heat in Eren’s chest? Some weird, humbled pride that stains his cheeks pink and makes him relax. Not even Mikasa had told him a compliment like that before...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, he deflects:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I don’t know football?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless you play it with toilet paper rolls, probably not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tch,” but that eases something of an amused smirk out of Levi — Eren can hear it in his voice. He rises off of Eren. Drags him to his feet. “Outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got a ball?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Har-har. Go on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a lonely field. The goal posts half-rusted, the grass poorly kept; poor funding for the school, mimicking the poor funding of the country. Eren holds the football with the underside of his arm, its latex just barely dragging up a wrinkle in his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which position you want?” asks Levi. He’s unzipped the top portion of his boiler suit, folding it downward around his hips and typing the sleeves across his front. He wears a black, cropped shirt beneath, which he’s tucked his lanyard into — </span>
  <em>
    <span>form fitting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eren notices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care,” says Eren. He waves a hand. “Start simple? I’ll be goalie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls the ball to Levi, who catches it underfoot. Eren’s back to the goal’s netting, he bends at the knees. Holds his arms out and ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confidence of this old guy, Eren thinks. There’s muscle in Levi’s body, for sure — Eren had felt not only the contour of it, but was damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>pinned</span>
  </em>
  <span> by it — but, muscle does not create accuracy. Muscle does not create speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had started as a goalie, Eren. He was good at it, too, because he was quick. Because he almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> throwing himself against the ground — didn’t shy from bruising or scrapes or hard hits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, he was always too anxious in the goal. His feet always needing to run. If he hadn’t screamed about quitting if he wasn’t a runner on the field — and (what </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> convinced the captain) Mikasa’s admittance that she would quit if Eren did — he would have stayed goalie. And, he didn’t have the patience for that. He was meant for offense, not defence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here, in this moment, it felt good to think: even if he had wasted time in that damn goal, whatever angle this old bastard kicked at, Eren could catch it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s right arm rises, just a smidge away from his flank; so he’s a leftie when he kicks, thinks Eren. Levi backs up by a few feet before he dashes, running toward that stationary ball. And in the moment before his leg throws forward, Eren registers Levi’s slight lean, that his planted foot is not deeply bent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eren can guess a few things: that the ball won’t shoot high; that it’ll go at an angle, as Levi won’t be hitting it straight on with his laces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Easy, Eren thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Easy, easy, easy</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it fucking shoots past his shoulder and thuds into the net. The speed of the damn ball burning hot as it whizzes past; it had been in his vision and then gone before Eren had released his breath. Fast, fast, fucking fast, that thing had gone; spinning as it came, darting forward like a missle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And making it into the goal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s jaw is open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had lunged for it, right?! Had thrown himself exactly where the ball had gone. He had seen Levi’s foot connect; had registered the thing flying. Saw where it would go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he had… missed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had missed the fucking ball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands in his pockets, Levi muses:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You a shit goalie, or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This doesn’t make sense. A lucky shot, maybe. Sure, Eren’s still feeling disgusting with the coffee stains on his shirt and on his hair… And okay, he’s a bit sore. But, he had been covered in dirt and blood and grime in games prior, with a shin splint, no less, and he had played fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lucky shot. Maybe he was distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Eren collects himself. Takes the ball. Rolls it back over the field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi raises a brow, but he complies. And this time, Eren knows he’s ready. He stops looking at the broad dip of Levi’s clavicle. Ignores the broad muscle of his shoulders—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it happens again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s dumbfounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel blood throbbing in his temples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls back the ball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck! Again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eight kicks. Eight goals. No answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s chest is heaving; a stuttering rise and fall from both exhaustion and bewilderment. On this eighth goal, he relents, trudging forward with the ball slung beneath his arm. He drops it between the two of them. Stares Levi in the face when he says:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One-on-one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Levi shrugs. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s fast. Agile, quick footed; a heel that can pivot and spin around Eren quick enough to tear the ball straight out from in front of him. So, Eren plays dirty; who gives a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> if this is the janitor. He slams his shoulder against Levi’s when he speeds up too close; angles his elbows outward, goes harder and harder for the ball, skidding and yelping, and swearing as they dash from one end of the field to the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi scores six times. Eren scores twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s never been prouder of himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s panting. Bent over. His palms bracing the tan muscle of his own legs. He spits onto the field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good,” and Eren feels dazed. Alight. Filled with adrenaline. He wants to laugh or cry — he's not sure which— because it’s such an odd mix of awe and excitement that’s gurgling up in him. He swallows his spit and repeats, “You’re so good. You’re better than Mikasa. Fuck. You’re so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s hair is brushed away from his face. The sweat from his forehead holding his fringe away from his eyes. He steps forward. Pats Eren on his bent back. “As I said, get your head out of your ass, and you have talent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren glances up, his neck craning to meet Levi’s gaze above him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you just a janitor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you just a janitor that sells pills to university students?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Psh,” and Levi knocks his fist on Eren’s back. Steps away with a roll of the eyes. “Shut up. They’re cleaning tablets—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, for cleaning up my grades.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. There’s a downward draw to his expression; a knitting of the brows, a low curve of his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren stands straight. Clears his throat. He’s hit a weird topic. For Levi’s sake, he continues: </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, alright, fine. But you’re… I mean… I’ve never seen someone like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a different tune you’re singing, from before,” says Levi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” and Eren gives an awkward grin. Shrugs his shoulders. “But I mean it. Why—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There some shame in being a janitor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no! It’s just that. I’m surprised. That’s it. Did you ever play for a league?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe a leg injury had sidelined him. Maybe a drug-habit had got him kicked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Not up here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Up here…’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” and Levi nods his head toward the department building. He’s already walking across the field, not bothering to wait for Eren. “I still haven’t finished the damn second floor because of you, and I have to be out of here by nightfall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah,” but Eren’s still stupefied. He stares at Levi’s broad back as he trails behind. Watches as he slides his arms back into the sleeves of his broiler suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’ve watched me play before?” asks Eren in the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna keep following me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, my bag’s in the teacher’s lounge still. I kinda need to get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi ignores him, but seems to fish for a set of keys in his pocket; he makes a sharp turn toward the lounge. Reverts the conversation:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes, if I get a chance, I’ll watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eren imagines him; Levi leaning against the metal stands that singe skin in the summer sun. Arms crossed, his gaze tepid, but his eyes watching Eren—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sends a thrill straight to Eren’s stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” and Levi unlocks the door. “Get your bag and get out of here. It’s past building hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” says Eren. His legs feel awkward and shaky. He slings his bag over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He asks nervously: “We’ve got a big game next week. Will you watch it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends if I’m busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cleaning or selling—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi flicks him on the forehead. “Shut it. Get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Eren’s halfway through the door when he turns back to ask:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your name’s Levi, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you know?” There’s sarcasm laced, there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren squints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been… wearing a lanyard with your name on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured you couldn’t read.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren shakes his head. Smiles. He likes that bite of humor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your last name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ackerman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren blinks. “Like Mikasa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The striker on your team? No relation, as far as I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren nods. He’s standing still. Hands in his front pockets to keep from fidgeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Levi,” he says. And he likes saying the name; that touch of the tongue against the back of his upper teeth. “Can we play again sometime? You and I? Football.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s like an electric shock. A set of burning pins and needles in Eren’s fingers and at the base of his throat when Levi says:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tuesday, and it’s too cold to be without a coat. Mikasa’s already dressed in the early morning, her tired eyes half lidded. The bottom third of her face hidden behind a scarf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That thing’s starting to smell,” says Eren in the kitchen. He’s still in his briefs; could care less that Mikasa sees him in a half-state of dress. Considering someone to be like a pseudo-mother for twelve years could do that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost self-consciously, Mikasa lifts her hand to press the scarf closer to her nose. Her brows narrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It should by now. That thing’s so fucking ratty. Why don’t you just toss it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignores him. Goes to tie the laces of her cleats to her rucksack instead. “We’re running late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin’s already long-gone. He had packed his uniform and his books last night before bed. Eren had been cleaning the dishes at the time — three people in one house could pile up a plethora — while Mikasa sat at the kitchen table, reorganizing class notes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five in the morning,” had said Armin. Team captain or not, he still obviously felt odd giving commands; had to add with a tender-looking face: “If that’s alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too early,” had said Eren.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” had said Mikasa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, five hours later, the sun hadn’t even risen and Eren’s cursing at the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing impressive to their shared home. A creaking, old house with more stairs than floorspace had fit cozily into the budget their state loans had given them. Three stories tall, with each room small enough to fit no more than four people within, it was an oddly shaped floor plan. From the street, through the front door, a staircase led up onto the first floor, wherein there was a kitchen (one long counter and oven, a refrigerator, and a small dining table) and living room (just enough space for a black and white television and rotary phone, a settee, and bookcase).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second floor awarded the only toilet and bath, as well as the short hallway that led to Armin’s bedroom (cluttered with maps and books and magazines and newspapers). On the third, lived Mikasa (her bed always slightly undone; her clothes rarely folded; her personal touch on the room was otherwise minimal). And on the fourth: Eren. All rooms had windows; only Eren’s opened up onto a neighboring roof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the bottom of the first staircase, Eren mumbles again, “No one wants to play a game this early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikasa’s got her hand on the front door, waiting as long as she can before she releases them into the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s supposed to be drills all afternoon and evening,” her voice is groggy. “For all week, actually. You forget?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then when else will we play, if not now? We only have mornings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren can feel the heat of anger in his face. He double knots his boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we just sit here and revolve our fucking meaningless hobbies around it,” he snaps. “I can think of doing something better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start that,” says Mikasa. She cracks open the door. The incoming wind blows back Eren’s hair. He hisses at the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They bike to the field, their fingers painful and chapped from the wind as they steer. Armin and the rest of them are on the field already, going through sets of warm-ups or sipping from steaming mugs. Their breath rising like fog in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The game starts when the sun has risen, and there’s a meager audience — no surprise, really. Who goes to watch a football game so early? Some players of the opposing team had foregone attending — Eren wishes he was one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a short match. No penalties. No overtime. Eren knows when he scores his second goal, it’s a game he won’t remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, that janitor never came.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finds him in the chemistry laboratory, scrubbing between two long, white desks where tarnished bunsen burners sit unlit. Levi’s on his hands and knees, using a gnarled toothbrush to scrub between the shifted edges of the floor panels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” says Eren. He doesn’t wait for a greeting in return. “You didn’t come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi doesn’t glance back; but his arm momentarily stills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chides, “Did I make a promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Eren. He can hear the clatter of talk in the adjacent hallway — groups of students nagging over the country-wide drill. Eren shifts the bag on his shoulder. “But, you made it sound like you would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. You heard wrong, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, you made it sound like—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I’ve got an hour before I punch in to work, and I’ve got an hour after I’m done. Other than that, it doesn’t work. I don’t make the visa curfew laws, got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren tilts his head; the reasoning lost to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi sighs. Leans back, resting his ass against his heels to get a last look at the leftover grime before standing. He casts a glance at the wall clock; a hand is edging close to the hour. “Stupid fucking drill,” he says beneath his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hate it too?” asks Eren.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t everyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren shrugs. The voices in the hallway sound so distant now. Heavy doors leading outside had long ago squealed open before they shut. They’ll all go as a group — the entire university population; all of Trost’s population; all of the apartment dwellers and workers; every damn Eldian in this city (every city) — down the multiple entrances into the underground, where in a corralled space, they’ll wait for the blaring of the loudspeaker to quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Practicing for the day Marley will release an artillery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a wail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The loudspeakers around the city sound - a keening, whooping stream of noise. Starting low, rising higher, until it falls and repeats this same alarm again. Eren braces his ears, muffling the screeching with his palms as he watches Levi drop the toothbrush into his utility bucket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should have already left,” says Levi. Eren’s watching his lips; depending on the shape and curve they take to translate his wording.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren,” Levi grips a single wrist, pulling Eren’s hand away from his ear. “I said, ‘we should have left already.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that alarm is giving him a headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren steps closer, leaning forward to put his face near Levi’s ear and jawline —</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he smells nice; a sting of sweat clouded by the creamy scent of soap —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said, ‘yeah.’ Do you think the patrol’s out yet? I can’t afford another ticket for skipping out on the drill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorts. “How many have you gotten?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too many. I’m fucking poor because of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. There’s a tug of a grin, barely, on his lips. He pinches Eren’s ear and nods his head toward the door. And Eren follows, shoulders hitching upward at the noise, before the squealing of rubber-soled shoes reverberate in the empty hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A body — long and angular in nature; teeth bared as he runs — shoots past the open classroom door. It’s a student, obviously. He’s young looking. Quick. Eren catches his eyes as he passes, and as if from one comrade to another, the boy yelps out:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patrol!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Levi’s hiss is sharp enough to catch in Eren’s ears. He glances at the clock again, brows knit in frustration. “Do these bastards seriously give us </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head before he rubs the heel of his palms against his eyes. He grips Eren by the wrist — it’s not a friendly grab; something more like a yank, but Eren’s heart speeds at the touch — and drags him out into the hallway. He’s careful, Levi. With each open classroom door, he hurries he and Eren within, peering around the doorframe, before sneaking back into the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There somewhere we can hide?” And Eren’s standing very close; his chest almost pressed against Levi’s shoulder blades as they temporarily make camp in another classroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shuffle of boot-sounds thud alongside the alarm; a group of officers in the hallways, making their routine sweep. Levi shoves himself back, away from the door frame to press his spine against the classroom wall. His right arm juts outward, landing against Eren’s chest, pushing him backwards and out of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The utilities closet,” says Levi once the group has passed. “They won’t be able to open it without a key.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds small,” mutters Eren, close again by Levi’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, it is. Barely an arm’s length deep with brooms and mops and buckets (though, perfectly organized) cluttering the space of it. Eren pales at the sight, but it’s inviting enough. A promise of escape from a pricy ticket and a lecture.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You can’t treat this like it’s nothing, because one day this won’t just be a drill. You got that? You get how this behavior endangers not just your life, but others’…?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren steps in first, scooting boxes and buckets aside with his feet. He presses his back against the wooden paneling. Before the door shuts — before the light leaves with it — the last thing Eren sees is the set expression on Levi’s face; a wisp of hair that’s fallen just over his lashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it goes dark. There’s a pressure against Eren’s chest: Levi’s body. His arm is moving as he shoves a key blindly into the lock of the inner doorknob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. There’s no space. There’s really, really no space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what’s worse,” and Eren hears Levi’s voice. With walls and a door around them, that siren has turned into a dull muffle. “If I stay like this, or turn around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” says Eren, brilliantly. He feels weird. In the muted dark of the closet, only a thin line of light shines through the bottom edge of the door, illuminating just their boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren swallows. Finds his voice, “Just… do whatever’s most comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” comes a snort. “Then, it’s none of the above. Unless </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to turn around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My face will be pressed against the wall…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You dislike that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> — he can feel Levi’s ribcage rise and fall in a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m turning around, alright?” says Levi. “Better than feeling like I’m being spooned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” says Eren. “Okay. Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When Levi turns, his shoulders, his hips, his thighs brush everywhere. The soft touch of his hair tickles Eren’s nose, but it’s not that, really, that bothers him. It’s—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren, fucking shit, do you not feel my hip against your dick? Stand straighter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren flushes — is glad the dark can hide his expression. He shifts and straightens, hitting the top of his head against a long, wooden bar meant for hanging cleaning gear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Eren hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounded painful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi sighs. “Nevermind that, then. We’ll put up with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. In his mind’s eye, Eren tries to place their bodies. He knows he’s got his own spine flush against the wall, his knees at a slight bend. His hands awkwardly in his trouser pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, Levi… Eren imagines he must be leaning against the door. As Eren can’t place where his arms or hands are, they must be crossed against his chest. He’s not standing stiff and straight, though; instead, his hips and legs must be slightly forward and angled — enough, at least, to land his right hip against Eren’s pelvis. Their thighs are touching and when Levi shifts, even slightly, the meer brush of friction—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you breathing so hard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your breathing,” Levi repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always breathe like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A lie.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren sighs. It’s a shaky noise. He feels overstimulated and overwhelmed. All his blood is rushing downward and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>convinced</span>
  </em>
  <span> Levi has to have noticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But oh, oh god, the thought of just rutting forward; to hit home against Levi’s hip in this fucking little closet, where Eren can practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste</span>
  </em>
  <span> Levi’s scent on his tongue. Eren’s not conscious of it — really not thinking straight — when he leans his hips just a bit more forward—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, y—” his voice catches on his tongue. He’s embarrassed. God. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He clears his throat. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s quiet, and it’s this silence that frightens Eren.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Eren tries; his words feel clumsy. “Let me try and lean back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It helps little in the sense of giving personal space but, well, it’s an attempt. Eren’s mind is buzzing; attempting in desperation to find a thought or conversation that can distract him from… </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that siren still wailing, a new topic isn’t difficult to find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is so stupid,” he says. And once he’s meditated on the scenario — of hiding from patrolling officers in this already damned and destroyed country — every bit of this situation’s exhilarating goodness slips form Eren’s mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like we’re animals,” he continues. “Hiding like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than a ticket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I mean… This whole thing. Of the Eldians on the surface going into the underground or into bunkers because of Marleyan attacks. We’re just like animals waiting to get slaughtered. They’re just training us with missile drills. Why aren’t we doing anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure the missile drills,” says Levi, and his deep voice sounds nice in Eren’s ears. “Is to probably keep another ‘Shinganshina’ from happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels, suddenly, like there’s no longer air in Eren’s lungs. Like his chest has constricted; like his ribs have curled inward to constrict every organ until bursting. It’s a horrific feeling in this unwavering darkness. There’s no visual stimuli to redirect his thoughts; he’s stuck, staring at swirling pits of black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eleven years ago now, right?” asks Eren, and his voice must have come out strange because he feels Levi shift on his feet uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” A beat. “Familiar with it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren swallows. Levi is smart; Eren knows that. The tone in his question had been directed as a statement. Or, maybe, Eren’s too obvious. Always, always, he’s worn his every feeling on his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The evenness in his own voice surprises Eren when he says, “Yeah. I was there. I grew up there. I lost everything. My home… My mom...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just—” and Eren feels the heat behind his eyes. Eleven years, and he’s still so bitter. He’s still so angry. He’s so, he’s so—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to kill them. I want to go overseas and kill them… For everything they did to me. To us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” And Levi shifts on his feet again. They’re pressed back together — accidentally — but Eren’s mind is far, far gone from momentary thrills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi asks, “Why didn’t you join the military, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wouldn’t let me. I didn’t pass the first exam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren frowns to himself. “Personality test. I got denied for being ‘too aggressive.’ And, I can’t reapply.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorts; a brief, chiding laugh escapes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, “Huh,” he mutters. “Unsurprising. Well, when was it… two centuries ago? Half a continent was murdered cause an Eldian was ‘too aggressive.’ I’m sure they’re trying to keep a repeat from happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that better than just sitting here?” Eren can feel his voice rising. “Waiting to die? Practicing the same shit over and over again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You not enjoying this closet? I thought you were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> takes Eren’s mind briefly off of its prior course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a risk to feign innocence, but Eren nevertheless tries: “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head — his hair moving beneath Eren’s nose with the motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind,” Levi deflects. “Listen. If you were an underground citizen instead of a surface citizen, you would have been more lucky. There’re military positions they’re recruiting for. I don’t know if it’s some secret service, or what — if it’s for underground citizens only, it must not be something good. But, they wave all test results. They don’t matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An opportunity, a brightness, a flash, a spark — something lights up in Eren’s nerves. A rise of hope crackles up his spine; he’s more awake than he’s been for years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I could join the military?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi repeats himself: “‘Underground citizens.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do I become one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorts. “Who would want to be one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I need to get a job down there? Or, live there for a bit? Do you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t hand them out. Likely, because no one would be applying for them. The job market is bleak down there anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just as quick as it came, that bright hope that had settled in his chest, starts waning. But he’s desperate, desperate--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So there’s no way? You have to be born down there? That’s it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren feels Levi shrug. “Otherwise, marriage,” he mutters. “That’s about it. Good luck on that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s so caught in his thoughts — lost in the momentary bliss of opportunity and possible purpose — that he doesn’t notice the siren has stopped blaring until Levi unlocks the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Gimme some of that Cold War aesthetic," said absolutely none of my readers, but I'll give it to you anyway. </p><p>Thank you so much for reading! Any comments left are read over about, on average, five times a day and used as inspiration to keep writing. Thank you for the kudos, the bookmarks, or even just continuing to read this story. See you next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're interested to see Isayama's AU that inspired this fic, you can find a link to it <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/ShingekiNoKyojin/comments/iu46gg/aot_fake_previews_masterpost/">here</a><br/> (scroll down to the bottom of the post).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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